


In Dreams I Find My Destiny

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has a lot to learn if he's going to save his friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams I Find My Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a fill on the KMM for this prompt :  
>  _Arthur/Merlin, preferably gen, canon era. Merlin is sleeping and Arthur can't wake him up. There's no obvious cause, and it goes on for long enough to become dangerous to Merlin's health (not to mention Arthur's mental health)._

"Has there been any change?" He felt like he asked that very question far too frequently of late. But what else could he do when his servant - and his dearest friend, though he was hard pressed to admit that fact in any but the most dire or private situations - simply would not wake?

Arthur thought back to the afternoon when he had stormed into Merlin's little bedroom to demand what was taking him so long, only to find him sleeping the slumber of the dead, though when he checked frantically for it, the young king had found a pulse. He had sent for Gaius, who in the wee hours of the morning had set off to the outskirts of town to assist Elfrida, the midwife of the lower town, with a particularly worrisome birth. Gaius had bustled in several hours later, what looked like blood and several other fluids best left unanalyzed still coating his robe.

After a lengthy examination, Gaius had determined that there simply was no explanation for a healthy and active male of Merlin's age to sleep without waking for such a long period of time.

Two weeks later, Arthur still came down to Gaius' quarters whenever he had the chance, checking on the still-sleeping figure in what had to be one of the smallest rooms in the castle.

In the beginning, he had tried to avoid drawing any attention to his care for his manservant, but so many of the people of the castle knew and cared about the other man, that he had abandoned any thoughts of discretion, and now he spoke openly of his friend's continued condition with all who asked.

"I'm afraid not, Sire." He had not expected a different answer, but still he found his shoulders slumping and a deep, soul-weary sigh escaping his lips. As the old physician turned back toward his latest project, Arthur sat on the little stool beside his best friend's bed and began to talk, as he had at least once each day since first finding his unresponsive form.

"George has been polishing the buckles on all my boots again. I believe he is bored, but too good a servant to admit such a thing. Not that you would know anything about that, of course. Elyan seems to finally be coming to terms with everything that happened with the druid boy's spirit - I think having the support of the other knights is helping, though I know that not having... certain people around makes it harder for him. Gwaine and Percival have upset the head cook again - just this morning, they made off with several of her preserves. I wish you could have been there when she chased them onto the field, apron flying and ladle flailing, screaming her head off at the pair of miscreants. If the knights of Camelot no longer have the respect of the Five Kingdoms, I believe I shall lay the blame at your feet. After all, they joined us because of their friendship with you." Arthur stopped, unable to continue for a moment because of the lump in his throat. He tried to be stoic and unmoved for the sake of his knights, but he feared for his friend. What was this thing that kept him in perpetual repose? He did not moan or cry out, he did not burn hot with fever or run cold with chills. Arthur wished that he could blame it on some sort of enchantment, but Gaius had assured him that there was no foul-play at work.

He breathed in heavily and spoke once more, voice still tight with emotions he would never fully be able to express. "You have to wake up. This is the longest vacation you have ever taken, and it is long past the time for you to stir your lazy carcass and get back to work. The stables miss you...  _ I _ miss you." Bowing his head, he wondered when he had become such a sop. Oh, yes. When his useless lay about manservant had decided to take a fortnight of rest without so much as a by-your-leave. He sincerely hoped that Merlin never actually heard the words that he spoke during these visits, or he would never have a moment's peace when the other man finally woke.

Then again, he would put up with all the teasing and careless disrespect in the world if his friend would simply open his eyes.

 

...

  
Arthur had come to visit him again. He knew, because he could hear his voice speaking to him as though through the oiled cloth of a tent and several layers of blankets.

He looked around the Crystal Cave and the images which showed him all of his mistakes, all the things which led to this moment. He felt naked, laid bare before these images of his own shortcomings.

Ever since he was a babe, his magic had been anticipating his needs. His mother told him later that, time and again, she would look up from the cooking fire or from her sewing to find that a blanket had mysteriously draped over him, or that the soft little dragon toy - the only tribute she felt it safe to give to his heritage - had landed in his arms.

Two weeks ago, his magic had decided that _enough was enough_. For the last few years, he had run himself ragged chasing after the blond prat who shared his destiny and trying desperately to frustrate first Morgause's and then Morgana's plans to rob them of that destiny. He was exhausted in body, mind, and soul, and so his magic was now forcing him to take a long-needed, and even longer denied, rest. He remembered falling down onto his hard little bed, still so much better than anything he had known in childhood, and then finding himself trapped here, made to reexamine his actions and come to hard decisions long in the making.

It was time to stop trying to force things; they would happen, or they wouldn’t.

He needed to stop pushing Arthur to be more before he felt ready, to marry Gwen, to see his uncle for what he was. He was meant to advise Arthur and help him to become the Once and Future King, not to force him into something for which he felt uncomfortable or unprepared.

He should never have tried to heal Uther – he could see that now.

And in spite of the fact that it had worked out, he should never have trusted Borden – hadn’t, really, even at the time, but he had been so impatient for things to _change_ , to be just a _little bit_ better, that he had done it anyway. When he had first faced this uncomfortable truth, he had felt the icy grip of terror at the thought of what most certainly would have happened had either Arthur or Borden been the one to retrieve the egg. He loved Aithusa, and would never allow any harm to come to the little dragonlet, but it had very nearly ended for him while he was yet in the egg, and it would have been yet another loss to lay at Merlin’s own feet.

He should not have tried to sabotage things between Mithian and Arthur, either. A king needed strong allies and a good queen, and Arthur was rapidly losing opportunities for both. Giving the princess the lands she desired had saved them all from war, but would it ultimately weaken the kingdom?

Everything he did, he did for Arthur. But was he inadvertently destroying their destiny through his lack of foresight and inability to take things as they come?

No. The time for self-pity was over. When he woke, he would do everything in his power to be the protector and the friend that Arthur needed – his king still cared, he could see that now, with the daily visits to his bedside and with the sigil that he had felt pressed into the palm of his hand on the third day of his – convalescence? Magically induced coma? – that Arthur must have rooted through Merlin’s pockets to find, since he had taken to carrying it with him at all times.

He was ready. He knew he was ready. So why could he still not wake?

 

...

  
Ten hours later, when Arthur should be in bed, asleep, he was sitting by Merlin’s bed again, contemplating the relative merits of simply staying the night.

He was acting ridiculous, and the worst part was, he knew it. If a fortnight of willing his manservant to wake had not yet yielded results, then staying the night would more than likely accomplish nothing but a giant crick in his neck, and an even worse outlook than he had the previous day. Such a feat seemed impossible, considering how bleak his mood had been during the council meeting; yet another without his clumsy friend stepping in to whisper sage advice at inopportune moments, or to pull some half-baked scheme to make him smile in spite of the dour reports and discussions; and during the morning training – another day on the field without a lanky form draped carelessly over the fence or on the grass, chatting lazily with the knights and dropping the odd comment about Arthur’s supposedly rusty skills and the possibility that the crown had made him complacent, because Merlin _knew_ how much that riled him up; and during the dinner he shared with those same knights – one more without Merlin spilling the wine or sneaking Arthur the best bits of chicken or palming a honey cake for later (which Arthur had never, in all the years of Merlin’s service, called the man out on, because he actually enjoyed seeing the sort of childish delight that Merlin got from purloining the royal sweets when he thought he was being so subtle; it was even better than hearing the ridiculous songs the idiot sang when he got sloshed).

He should go to bed. He should stop waiting for the man on the bed to wake, as though he were some love-lorn fool in a fairytale or ballad. He should… He should… _Hmmm_.

Birds chirruped in the trees and the wind rustled the leaves as he knelt down in front of the lake. Arthur looked around himself and felt a strange sense of recognition, as though he had been here before.

The air in this place had a mystical quality to it, but the young king could not find it in himself to be afraid. He had felt similar things before, like the moment that the strange blue orb had appeared to him in that horrible cave, and when he managed to survive the bite of the Questing Beast… and yet… this was not the same power, no matter how comforting it felt. This felt _old_ – ancient, even – as though it had always been here and would always remain.

He saw the ripples which signaled that something in the water stirred. First came a head full of dark, wavy hair, followed by slender shoulders and slimmer frame. When at last the figure had risen almost above its waist, Arthur saw that it was that of a young woman, dressed in a fine plum-colored gown which seemed vaguely familiar, though at the moment he could not remember why.

The young woman gazed at him with sad eyes that seemed to pierce his soul. What could possibly make such a beautiful creature so solemn? Was she trapped here, in the lake? But no, Arthur knew that could not be the reason; the air in this place was too pure, too _peaceful_ for it to be a place of torment.

“Greetings, my Lady.” The lady in question raised a gently amused eyebrow and the corners of her lips rose in a sweetly mocking smile.

“Greetings, _my Lord_.” There was something of Merlin in the way she spoke those words, something just this side of respectful that, rather than raising his ire, erased the last of his uncertainties.

Nothing that brought Merlin to mind could ever be truly evil.

Reassured, Arthur wondered once more about the woman’s story – what had led her here? Why did she appear to him now? Better still, why was _he_ here? The last thing he remembered was sitting with Merlin – or really, he should say, by Merlin, considering he and everyone else had been unable to truly do anything with the man for quite some time, trapped in slumber as he was.

Surely this was all a dream – but it felt so real. He could feel the blades of grass swishing around him, smell the dirt and the greenery, feel the chill of late autumn.

The lady before him watched as he struggled to contain his curiosity and relented. “I am sure you would like to know why you have been brought here. This is no ordinary dream, my King. We have much to discuss.” His mind latched on to a few deliberately chosen words and swarmed with even more questions than before.

“ _Your_ King, my Lady? I do not believe these waters are within my lands.” Eyes which spoke of a thousand secrets glinted with good humor.

“Not yet. But you are not my King because of any territories you might possess. I call you my King because you are Merlin’s, as do all who wish to see magic returned to the land.” Nothing could have stunned Arthur more. How could any who practiced magic find him worthy, think him someone to hang all of their hopes on, when they knew what his father, what _he_ , had done? The druid boy from the shrine came immediately to mind, followed closely by the doddery old sorcerer who had tried to heal Uther. Would have, according to Gaius, had it not been for that necklace. He had tried for so long to be more open-minded and compassionate than his father, yet at the first tests of his character, he had dashed his promises upon the rocks. He could only hope that his actions in the shrine a few weeks previous would absolve him of his oath-breaking. And why did this woman care about Merlin’s loyalties? To his knowledge, the two had never met, though obviously that knowledge was somewhat inaccurate, given the circumstances. “There is a sickness in the land and in the people because those who practice magic have been driven away by hatred and fear. You, Arthur Pendragon, must change this. An evil is coming which you cannot face alone. There are those who would help you, should you seek for them. But you must first awaken your friend, who even now is trying desperately to get back to you. He is the key – the key to Camelot’s future, the key to bringing peace to Albion, the key to returning magic to the land. Without him, there will be no hope for you, or your people who you hold so dear.”

If she had not seemed so earnest, so certain, Arthur would have felt tempted to scoff, “ _Mer_ lin? My manservant Merlin? The man who cannot even show up to work half of the time because he’s off carousing and getting drunk at the Rising Sun? _That_ Merlin?” But there was simply no way to laugh in the face of her complete and utter sincerity, her steadfast surety, her undeniable urgency.  
And there was also this: Merlin’s odd moments – which seemed to become more frequent as the years passed – of wisdom, his complete inability to abandon Arthur even under express orders, the often inexplicable occurrences which seemed to always involve his friend somehow. Arthur had known from that first day that there was something about Merlin. But until this moment, he had never felt so close to finding out exactly what it was. He was brave, yes. He was indisputably loyal. At times he displayed a rather bizarre sort of cockiness that came only from those who knew who they were and what they were capable of, and that nothing was beyond their ability to handle. But Arthur still needed to know the reason, to know what made Merlin the man he was.

And so he asked with a sort of hesitancy, so foreign to the forthright young king, “What exactly is it about Merlin that is so important, my Lady?”

She looked down and away, troubled by something unseen. “It should not have come to this. This is not my secret to tell.” Why was it that every word from this young woman’s mouth bred only more _questions_?

“What secret? What do you know? _Why_ do you know?” A wave of protectiveness which he always associated with Merlin swept over him. “Who are you to Merlin? How do you know him so well?”

“You once offered to deny your destiny for the love of a woman. Do you remember?” Of course he did. How could he ever forget? The pain of Guinevere’s betrayal overwhelmed him anew at this reminder of what they once shared. The lady in the lake softened at his obvious distress, bestowing upon him a bittersweet smile. “Merlin very nearly did the same for me.” _Shock_. Shock, and horror, and betrayal, and… how much pain could one man be expected to suffer within such a short period of time? The idea of Merlin ever leaving him, even for love (and _yes_ , that did make him feel rather hypocritical, but he had never claimed to be perfect, no matter _what_ Merlin occasionally muttered under his breath) was inconceivable, was simply too much for him to grasp. Merlin, in the years since he had come to Camelot, was the one thing in his life that Arthur had never imagined he would lose. Even when he was in that wretched cave searching for the Mortaeous flower, he had known that Merlin would survive, because there was no other option. He had never even contemplated the idea that his friend might leave willingly. He felt bereft; though he was closer to the truth than ever before, he felt as though he was drowning in all of the things he did not know about his dearest friend.

Gathering himself, he asked, “What stopped him?” a beat of silence followed. Then, the lady looked straight into his eyes with neither censure nor approbation.

“You killed me.”

 

...

  
Arthur’s mind reeled, trying to come to terms with the role he apparently played in the lady’s death – and how was she here now, if she had already been killed? He breathed in the air around him and tried to make some sort of sense of everything he had learned since falling asleep in that closet Merlin called a room, more than likely slumped over his unconscious companion.

Still gathering his thoughts, he asked in a rather breathless voice, “When was this?”

When he could at last look up at the young woman again, the strength came more because he was curious about her silence than about the actual tale, although he did feel a desire – no, a _need_ – to know. Whether this was meant to soothe the guilt which now roiled in his belly or to stir it even further, he could not say.

At last, she seemed to find the words. “Several years ago, a druid girl was brought to Camelot in a cage,” she began, her eyes filled with visions of a past he could never fully understand. What would it be like, to be hunted? To be reviled simply for who you were? “A young man – a serving boy – saw her there.”

“He rescued her.” There was no doubt in his mind that Merlin would do everything in his power to save someone he believed unjustly held.

“Yes.” Finally, her lips turned up in a wistful smile once more.

“He took care of her.” He was starting to understand something which he had wondered about off and on for years. He knew Merlin, and while the man had some rather unusual tendencies, wearing dresses was not among them.

“He did.”

“He loved her.” And Arthur had killed her. He did not know how, but Arthur planned to spend the rest of his life making up for the part he had played in Merlin’s suffering. But first he had to find a way to wake him from his unending slumber.

“And she loved him. But… it was not meant to be. Merlin was meant for greater things than loving a lost druid girl, and she may never have found peace, had she lived.” There it was again. That complete faith in a destiny Arthur knew nothing of. He still felt overwhelming guilt for what he had done, but it had always been easier for him to focus more on facts than emotions, and so he grasped the thought with both hands and then _ran_ with it, far away from things that he could no longer change.

“What was Merlin meant for, my Lady?” He felt as though she had earned such a title, druid girl that she was in life. Many of the high-born women of the court were not half so noble in their suffering, nor were they as lovely.

“He is destined to be the greatest warlock this world has ever known and to help you become Albion’s most beloved king.” Perhaps it stemmed from the many times this woman had stunned him so completely in this place, but Arthur felt more surprised by his lack of a reaction to this news than by the information itself. More than likely, he would feel the roaring flames of his friend’s long-standing perfidy later, but for now there were more important things.

“Well, that’s certainly interesting and I would love to hear his explanation for everything I’ve learned here, but he won’t be telling me much of anything if he continues to sleep the way he has. Frankly I’m surprised that he has held up this well in the last two weeks.” Technically, Merlin should be wasting away to nothing right now, unable to feed and drink as he had been for so long. Yet, in spite of the worrying paleness to his cheeks, and a more pronounced gauntness, his friend had not deteriorated to the extent a normal man would have under similar conditions.

Looking back now, there were so many things about Merlin that could be explained by his apparent magical abilities. How on earth had he been so blind for so long?

He looked up from the patch of grass he had been examining as he brooded over his own ignorance – or perhaps avoidance; he had learned during Morgana’s short-lived reign of terror just how far he could go to ignore facing the truth about someone he loved, since his sister had shown signs of odd behavior and unrest in all the months following their ‘rescue’ of her in that forest, and yet he had told himself quite firmly time and again that nothing was wrong – regarding his friend’s magic. “What must be done to wake Merlin?”

The lady paused and seemed to consider her words with care. “Before I can tell you how to wake Merlin, you must understand why he now sleeps.”

In any other situation, Arthur would believe that she was stalling, yet he could sense that she felt the same urgency which now gripped him; something was coming for Camelot, and the longer he lingered here, the less prepared they would be.

Seeing the King nod, she carried on, “All magic is aware in some way of the world around it. Merlin, who is unusually powerful, has particularly sentient magic, and at times, it knows what he needs before Merlin himself. Above all things, Merlin seeks to keep you safe and to bring magic back to Camelot. Recently, he has found it even harder than normal to accomplish either. Sensing how exhausted its host was becoming, Merlin’s magic intervened, forcing him to rest and recover, and ultimately garnering your attention.”

Arthur’s mind went back to a somber scene in the physician’s quarters some weeks ago, when a weakened Gaius had told him of the people who had labored unrecognized to ensure his safety and his sovereignty over the years. He knew now – had always known, on some level – that his friend was chief among them. So many things now made sense – Merlin’s reticence to discuss his views on magic; his deep compassion for other magic users, including the lady of the lake and another young druid, named Mordred; his at times oddly extensive knowledge of magic, such as the druid shrine. His friend had carried a deep secret with him for years, and Arthur had never realized the toll it was taking. “What must I do?”

“Have you ever heard of the one they call Emrys?” Seeing Arthur’s nonplussed and more than a little frustrated demeanor, the Lady carried on. “It is the name the druids whisper when they tell of Merlin’s destiny. He is eternal, every part of him touched by the magic of the world. In order to wake him, you must find a way to accept Merlin as he is, and you must set aside your fear of magic. The process has already begun. It started when you learned of an old sorcerer’s innocence, and continued when you brought a tortured young druid boy’s soul peace. It will end only when you find the faith to leave this place and call him by his magical name.”

“Faith and a name? That’s all it takes?” She would simply have to forgive his rather disrespectful tone, because frankly, this plan of action seemed like so much horse dung – something best left to Merlin. But Merlin was unable to deal with fanciful ideas and all manner of grime, due to Arthur’s apparent lack of trust, and so he supposed he might as well try to go along with it.

Merlin did so much for him; he could suspend his disbelief, if only for his friend’s sake.

“Sometimes having faith is one of the hardest things a man must strive for – your people have already left behind the Old Religion, have ceased giving thanks to the gods of your ancestors. Merlin is a manifestation of the old powers which you now forsake. It is why the druids, who still follow the old ways, revere him so.” Arthur’s mouth ran dry – should that be possible, in this dream world? It certainly _felt_ possible, as well as uncomfortable.

“And he would share such power, would place it at my command?” She gave him a Look, and allowed him to actually consider his words. Because of _course_ Merlin would do such a thing; the man had swallowed poison for him before they had even really known each other at all. He had continued to stay by his prince, and later his king’s, side in spite of how vehemently Arthur often spoke against Merlin’s kind. He had even saved Uther, the man responsible for driving magic from the land, and had never seemed resentful of that fact. Having his magic do Arthur’s bidding rather paled in comparison to so much unyielding loyalty. He thought back to the moment when he had first seen the wan form of his manservant after the long and agonizing vigil at his father’s side, and telling him with utter sincerity that he was a loyal friend. He had meant it with every fiber of his being then, and he found that he meant it still.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and _believed_.

As the world around him faded, he heard the Lady’s voice as though from a great distance, saying, “Farewell, Once and Future King.”

Rough fabric rubbed against his cheek, which rose and fell to the time of slow, even breathing – the same cadence he had fallen asleep to. The scent of sleep which clung to the fabric reminded him strongly of the man currently lying beneath him; Merlin always had that sort of warm, welcoming, lazy scent clinging to him, though during the day it mingled with whatever people and places he had come in contact with during his chores or escapades. Red lay before his eyes – a sign that daylight had come once more to Camelot, and he struggled to open sleep-laden lids in order to greet the new day.

Squinting, Arthur lifted his head from where it rested and took stock of the little room, which looked unchanged from the previous night, and the many nights before – unkempt and little more than a storage room. At last, his eyes fell to the form upon the bed, pale and angular, though not gangly and awkward the way he had been when first they met.

In spite of the obvious signs of maturity in the face before him, he could still see the boy who challenged a prince. Though now he knew that Merlin theboy truly could have taken him apart with less than one blow, he also knew that Merlin the _man_ never would.

Breathing out through his nose, he ran sword-callused fingers through soft black strands and smoothed his thumb over an alabaster brow. Breathing in, he leaned forward and took care to look directly into the other man’s eyes as he spoke one word, which said everything and nothing about his friend. “ _Emrys_.”

His eyes opened.

 

...

  
Arthur watched as his friend realized what name was spoken and the many implications behind it. When Merlin began to pull back, Arthur held fast, but did his best not to make the warlock feel frightened. Gradually, as he took in his King’s calm state and gentle grasp, he stilled, anxiety melting into a hopeful sort of wariness.

When Arthur was certain that Merlin felt comfortable, a soft, slightly soppy smile slowly turned up the corners of his lips. “Hello, Old Friend.” The relieved grin that this earned was worth a hundred soppy moments, warming the king from the inside out like a winter stew or mulled cider.

“Arthur, I have… so much to say. So many things I want to tell you.” He sounded happier and lighter than Arthur could recall Merlin sounding in a very long time.

The reminder that his friend had been struggling for so long and it had gone largely unacknowledged hurt like a vice around his heart, but the pain was tempered with the knowledge that he could fix it. Oh, he knew there was no way to erase what had happened, but he could listen to his friend and share the burden now, as Merlin had so often done for him in the past. They could do that and more, because Merlin was awake, and he would be fine, and Arthur _knew_ now. He knew about Merlin’s magic. He knew about Merlin’s sacrifices. He knew about Merlin’s destiny. And he knew that he would have him by his side forever. Because it was not a lonely road for either man; they would walk toward their shared fate step for step, shoulder to shoulder, and together, nothing would stand in their way.

“Before you say anything, there is something that I must say first.” Merlin gazed at him questioningly, clearly noting the determination in Arthur’s voice and wondering at its impetus. Well, this should be novel, on both their parts. “I’m sorry.” And he chose to completely disregard the stunned expression on Merlin’s face. _Honestly._ “You have done so much – given so much – for me, and all I have ever done is ask for more. I never realized what you were going through. But I promise you that things are going to be better – that _I’m_ going to be better. You’re always there for me when things become too much, and if I had done the same for you, then the last two weeks would never have happened. So, from now on, I want you to come to me when something is wrong, instead of haring off to who knows where and handling it all yourself.”

Merlin waited a moment to see if that was the end of what he felt fairly certain was the longest and most heartfelt apology Arthur had ever offered. “Thank you, Arthur. That means a lot, coming from you.” He paused, collecting himself. Because Arthur was not the only one who had reason to apologize. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry for never telling you the truth, and I’m sorry for being so insensitive about – some of your recent decisions.” He nearly breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the understanding in Arthur’s eyes. He would really rather not spoil this moment by bringing Gwen up yet again. This, right here, was their moment, and theirs alone. They had been friends long before Arthur developed feelings for Gwen, and they would be friends until destiny at last decided it was through with them and they were bound for the grave.

“I appreciate that.” Arthur paused, a light in his eyes asking, ‘ _Do you remember_?’ And Merlin smiled. ‘ _How could I forget_?’ And then his friend hesitated.

“What?” What could be harder than the apology his King had given earlier?

“I met someone, while you were… indisposed. She taught me a great deal. I was wondering if you might be able to tell me how to find her, so that I could thank her.” Baffled, Merlin spared a moment to wonder what sort of expression his face bore – it certainly could not be anything complimentary or accommodating. How could he possibly help Arthur find some woman he had met while Merlin was sleeping? As he prepared to ask exactly that, Arthur spoke again. “I believe you know her. She lives in a lake?” Merlin’s mind reeled.

“You met Freya?” Arthur looked as though some great mystery had just been solved.

“So _that’s_ her name. The Lady never actually said.” Arthur was clearly delighted, which rather rankled in light of Merlin’s continued confusion.

“What were you doing at the Lake of Avalon?” He practically squawked. And small wonder. His throat felt dryer than the thick scrolls he painstakingly scratched his friend’s speeches on for every feast and address. It was a miracle his voice had held out this long.

Hearing the strain in his friend’s voice, Arthur brought the flask of water he had taken to carrying with him whenever he made his nightly visits - owing to the lack of easy access to servants of the conscious variety – to parched lips, allowing him to take several small, slow sips. No point in allowing Merlin to become sick. While watching his friend drink, he asked, “So, she lives in the Lake of Avalon?” He had heard stories of the mystical Lake since he was a small boy, but had never believed them. He should have known that the Lady would prove him wrong in this, as well.

Even after long moments of Merlin not drinking, he remained silent. Finally, he said, voice little more than a raspy whisper, “That’s where I said goodbye.” Arthur was utterly gutted by this reminder of Freya’s death, and Merlin grew chagrined. This was not a conversation meant to cause them both pain. He wanted to make his friend happy; hadn’t he been good at that, once upon a time? “I’m sorry, it’s just – Freya is a bit of a sore spot still. But yeah, that’s where she is. I’m sure we can go see her at some point. How exactly did you meet her?”

Arthur resolved to ignore any feelings of sheepishness or embarrassment. He was the king. He could fall asleep anywhere he wished. Who was to question him if he happened to wish to fall asleep keeping vigil over his dearest friend? “She came to me – or maybe I went to her; I’m not exactly clear on that point, not that it really matters – in a dream last night. She told me about you and your,” he fought against the instinctive need for discretion: who was he trying to protect Merlin from? He hardly needed to protect him from _himself_ , “magic. Among other things. We have so many things to discuss.”

As Merlin was about to agree, Leon burst into his little room, chest heaving and hair askew in his obvious haste. “Sire, Morgana and Helios have breached the tunnels. We must leave, _now_!”

Arthur turned back to his companion and demanded, “Will you be alright?”

Merlin nodded reassuringly, “I’ve faced Morgana feeling much worse than this. I’ll be fine.” Arthur smiled in response to his quiet confidence and moved to help him up, ignoring Leon’s startled exclamation as he realized that there were two fully conscious people in the room now; he was a knight of Camelot. Arthur expected his men to be able to keep up with the at times dizzying pace that their circumstances tended to change, and Leon had not let him down in this regard before, so he saw no reason to expect anything else now. As King and warlock reached the threshold, Merlin glanced at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. “You worry about Helios and his men. I’ll take care of Morgana.” He felt the strong arm around his waist tighten, and vaguely saw the accompanying nod Arthur gave.

“Don’t do anything reckless or stupid.” Merlin heard the underlying concern in his King’s voice and felt warmed by this display of affection.

“I was about to tell you the same thing, _my Lord_.” The smile which accompanied the answering cry of affected outrage brought a corresponding grin to Merlin’s own lips. That little bit of condescension did it _every time_.

Even though they were about to face his manic sister, Arthur knew that they would be fine. They were Arthur and Merlin, and together, they could take on the world. He knew it, Merlin knew it, and soon, every one of their enemies would know it. It was, after all, their destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> I have vague ideas for an epilogue, which I may or may not write, but for now, this is the masterpost for the fic in its entirety.


End file.
